


Time and Shifting Weight

by acommontater



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aang Week, Gen, Light Angst, Post-Finale, Post-War, given the subject matter at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29634807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acommontater/pseuds/acommontater
Summary: The first time he returns to the Southern Temple after the war, he goes alone.
Relationships: Aang & Gyatso (Avatar)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 36





	Time and Shifting Weight

**Author's Note:**

> Aang week seems a perfect excuse to put this ficlet out there, since today's prompt is Family/Gyatso! (I wish I had the time and space to do the whole week, but maybe at a later date.)
> 
> Title is from 'Uneven Odds' by Sleeping At Last.

It’s been months since the stormy night when Aang had run away.

Gyatso sits quietly on a distant peak overlooking the valley. The temple is barely visible from here- a dim outline through the clouds, the landing space for the bison facing him, with the odd pop of orange glider wings. He had always meant to bring his young pupil here. When Aang comes back, Gyatso decides, they’ll visit this place together.

The other elders look at him with pity when he speaks of Aang’s return. They do not think that he, a boy, even being the Avatar, could have survived flying in such a storm. But they’d thought him plenty strong enough to take the world on his shoulders, Gyatso thinks bitterly. Then he breathes, letting the bitterness flow away. Aang had made his own choice. He would be waiting here at the temple for whenever his student returned.

He closes his eyes and lets his mind clear.

Aang had chosen him as his mentor as a child. He’d chosen the toys of previous Avatars and the elders present had all exchanged significant looks. They’d spread evenly around the room and waited for the toddler to make a choice. Aang had watched them all curiously as they moved, fascinated by the swishing of their colorful robes. He’d looked puzzled when they all stood still and watched him, clumsily turning around to see all of them. Then he’d spotted Gyatso and slowly toddled over to him, tiny face concentrated on holding the toys he’d selected. He’d dropped them at Gyatso’s feet and grabbed onto his robes, looked up at him with a large smile and laughed delightedly. Gyatso had knelt carefully and scooped the young Avatar into his arms. Aang had grabbed at his mustache, looking baffled. Gyatso had laughed. The other monks had nodded and bowed in acknowledgment of the young Avatar’s choice. Gyatso had bowed back, balancing the child in his arms.

Finding everything in the room that had been dear to a former Avatar indeed.

Gyatso’s heart had ached at the news of the death of his old friend, but Aang had been a bright and happy child, taking to training with enthusiasm. He had a carefree and inquisitive nature where Roku had been more serious and hesitant. A new life, another chance.

Gyatso opens his eyes to find that it’s now late afternoon over the valley. He finishes writing the thoughts he had needed to before tucking the journal away.

It’s a strained time at the temple between Aang’s disappearance and the rumors of war that seem more numerous by the day. It had been nice to spend an afternoon away from the slightly pitying looks he’d been getting from a few of the other monks.

There was supposed to be a meteor shower at the end of the week, a once in a lifetime event, with planned festivities for the students. He’s looking forward to something pleasant.

/

Appa lands with a low groan and Aang pats him on the head.

“Nice flying, buddy.”

He hops down and leans on his staff for a moment, looking out over the valley from the bison landing area. He falls back against Appa, absently stroking his hand through his thick fur.

The war was over and peace was slowly, clunkily, spreading.

Aang walks slowly down the familiar halls, now worn with age and nature. It’s still strange, like walking outside of his own body when he visits place he’d known. He makes his way down to the living areas, carefully picking his way through the built-up mulch that has blown into some areas as he goes. The hall where the elder monks had lived is still fairly clean, the remains of the simple wooden doors showing where the sun had crept in in chunks of bleached wood. Aang makes his way down to the end of the hall, carefully not looking into the rooms as he passes them. Not yet.

The doorway to Monk Gyatso’s room is still the same smooth stones as it had always been. He touches it gently, fingers slipping against the slight grooves worn into the stone. He’d always liked to think that they were made from the fingers of other students like himself, peeking into the master’s rooms.

The room is empty, the window opening letting beams of sunlight into the space. Aang steps in, looking at the shadow imprint left on the floor where a sleeping mat had lain, soft cloth and stuffing long rotted or taken by birds for their nests. He sits down in the center of the room, crossing his legs. There are no scorch marks in here and he’s glad of that. Only time and weather have touched this space.

Aang sits for a long time, not quite meditating, not quite thinking, just letting himself drift.

Katara had offered to come with him, but this was something he wanted to do himself. This time, at least.

He slowly becomes aware that the sun has sunk in the sky. He shifts to stand and frowns as the floor gives a little under his foot. The floors are made of smooth, solid stone and there wasn’t any significant damage to this section of the building. Nothing should have moved.

Aang inspects the ground, taking a breath and tapping gently to listen to the stone. A small hollow reveals itself under where he’d been sitting. With a frown, he bends a small slab out of the way. Why would Gyatso have had a secret compartment in his room?

He looks down into the hole he’d uncovered. It isn’t large, roughly hewn into the floor with just enough space to hold a couple of items wrapped in thick wax cloth. Aang lifts the bundle carefully out of the hole, setting onto a quickly cleaned section of floor, then unwraps the crackling cloth. There’s a small, familiar cloth bag and a book with a blank cover.

Aang breathes through the lump in his throat and carefully opens the bag to reveal a set of worn pai sho tiles. He smiles, gently tracing the inlay of a top stone tile- a white lotus- before setting it aside. Then he carefully lifts the book and opens the cover.

/

Gyatso starts keeping the journal a month after Aang vanishes- writing things he’d intended to teach him, things he’d want to tell him, anecdotes from around the temple he knows would have made his pupil laugh, new baking recipes he’d tried out. The first thing he had written was a letter in response to Aang’s note. What he would say to him when he came back.

He holds fast to the notion that his student is not dead, but he still grieves his loss. If Aang does not come home or sends no word to him by the new year, he will burn the book to send what he had written along to wherever the intended recipient has ended up, whether it be the spirit world or somewhere else.

He tucks the journal away with the pai sho set he hasn’t used since his and Aang’s last game. A needless attachment, a small voice in his head scolds, but he can’t bring himself to release it just yet.

Gyatso frowns as he looks out the window. The sun has been up for at least an hour and the sky remains an odd red color.

Outside, an alarm sounds, and he runs from his room.

/

Aang takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his hands to be gentle and not slam the book shut.

His name, written in Gyatso’s spidery handwriting, in a language nearly dead, is what starts the first page.

A letter.

He focuses on his breathing, clutching the journal to his chest. He can’t bring himself to read it just yet. This is something precious to be savored.

The next morning, sitting beneath the statue in the entryway, he finally opens the journal again.

_Dear young Master Aang,_

_I pray that the winds keep you safe on your journey and that you find the peace you seek. However long it takes, I hope you will return once more so that I may be sure of your wellbeing. You are always welcome at the temple, you know this._

_I am writing these thoughts down for you, unusual though it may be, because I am an old man and if you are gone on a journey of an unknown length, I may not have the chance to tell you so when you return._

_Please know that I am not disappointed with you, my dear pupil. The winds take us where they will on our time in life and you have been led by one away from here for now. That is the way of the world. Things come together and separate in an ever-changing pattern._

_I did receive your letter. I had hoped you weren’t spying on the council as you are wont to do, but alas. I would never have allowed them to send you away from me. You chose me as a child, and I intend to instruct you until there is nothing left I can teach you in the ways of the world._

_Wherever you have traveled to, even if it is a place I cannot follow, may the winds be favorable and guide you where you need to be._

_Until we meet again._

_Gyatso_

There are pages and pages that come afterwards, but Aang rereads the letter several times. He can hear Gyatso's voice telling him what he'd waited an unknowing century to hear. Then he closes the book and curls in on himself, pressing his forehead to the plain front cover. He doesn't cry, not yet. He takes several long, steadying breaths.

For now, he simply allows himself to feel grateful. The rest can wait.


End file.
